


On The Rocks

by uvhopespot



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Banter, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, bill is confused by his own emotions, weird eye-kissing, young ford is sheepish and clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uvhopespot/pseuds/uvhopespot
Summary: Bill has had no luck in finding and capturing Ford, so he goes to a bar to ease his frustrations. There, he runs into Stanford... or is it just a figment of his imagination? Set three years after Ford's descent into the Nightmare Realm.





	

It had been nearly three years, and Bill Cipher was still infuriated. None of his henchmaniacs had leads on Stanford Pines’ whereabouts. There was enough evidence to suggest that the guy had left the Nightmare Realm entirely, but _how?_ Ford was out of his element—he was in Bill’s world now—so why was he so hard to catch?

Cipher had always taken note of the man’s intelligence, that was true. He needed an extraordinary-minded human to be able to build the interdimensional gateway the demon so desired. He had definitely learned his lesson with the shaman from Gravity Falls’ early days of civilization. Boy, was _that_ a mistake.

And Stanford… Stanford was every bit as intelligent as a human could be. Intelligent _and_ gullible—what better combination? All it took were a few well-placed dreams, some idle flattery, and the guy was putty in his hands. It was all going according to plan… until, of course, the smart guy got wise and shut the portal down.

The fool was now lost in Bill’s territory, helpless and powerless. It was a shame, really, for Stanford had no chance of surviving in such a hideously different world from his own. But still, Bill sent out search parties.

Why was that? The dream demon told himself that it helped cover his tracks. Once he had Ford down, he could rest easy knowing there were no more threats to his potential takeover of Dimension 46’\\. But the longer Stanford Pines evaded Bill’s watchful eye, the more Bill was forced to re-evaluate his motives.

Boy, that Stanford Pines sure was _resourceful_ , wasn’t he? He would make a good asset to his team: as one of his henchmaniacs, perhaps even a bigger role than that…

He thought of the man, of the way his eyes lit up with a naïve excitement every time his “Muse” spoke. Bill had never thought of the funny feeling that accompanied him every time Ford looked like that. He’d always used to think it was excitement that his trickery was working, that his plan was moving forward. Maybe that wasn’t exactly the case.

_“Does it ever get lonely?”_

Stanford had asked this one night, in his dream. Bill had remembered because they were error-checking their formula, and the question had caught him off-guard. He had turned around—first with his eye, and then the rest of his body followed suit.

 _“What do you mean,_ lonely? _”_ His tone had probably come off as more defensive than he meant it to, for the young scientist flinched away. A cautious eye surveyed the situation, and Bill sighed. _“You know, sometimes it does. Comes with being omnipotent. You meet people, inspire them, and they’re on their way. That’s the way it works, Stanford.”_

Something had shifted in Stanford’s facial plane at that point, but Bill wasn’t quite able to identify what it was. When the guy next spoke, his voice was soft.

 _“That must be_ very _lonely.”_ His gaze was on the ground rather than up at Bill, and for some reason, that angered the demon.

 _Look up—I’m over here,_ he silently willed to himself, and to his surprise, Ford followed.

 _“Is there…”_ Ford paused to clear his throat, diverting eye contact once more.

Bill folded his arms. _“Speak up, Ford. I haven’t got all day.”_

 _“I just—”_ The lack of eye contact was getting worse by the minute. _“I—I was just, uh, wondering if there was any way to, uh… to_ change _that.”_

Bill was intrigued. _“Change what, I.Q.?”_

_“Change… the loneliness.”_

This time, it was Bill’s turn to avert his gaze. _“You know, I don’t think so.”_

And Stanford’s face—filled to the brim with sadness and another emotion that Bill couldn’t place—still haunted him to this day. _“So, you’re just going to be lonely forever?”_

When Bill regained his focus, he was back in the Nightmare Realm. When had that Time Punch gotten into his hand?

_You don’t need to be lonely._

It was Ford’s voice. Bill gripped his glass tighter, eye growing wide. This thought liked to intrude his mind an awful lot, and he didn’t seem to know why. But suddenly, he would hear the voice, and Ford would be there in all of his dumb smartness, his eyes shining brighter than the light of the interdimensional portal.

_I’ll work with you, Bill. We’ll be a team, and you won’t have to be lonely again._

And Bill had never fully realized how lonely he was—not until his henchmaniacs had been sent out and he was alone in the Nightmare Realm with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.

The demon glanced at his surroundings. The air smelled of burnt hair—a familiar, pleasing scent. Fragments of colours and ideas and objects floated around in a large, chaotic jumble, and there was no one to be seen for miles and miles.

_Maybe if…_

The demon floated over to his crystal orb. Under normal circumstances, the object would allow him to more clearly see into his dimensional peepholes. It only worked in certain dimensions, however, but it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try…

“Let’s see where you’re hiding, Stanford Pines…” he murmured to himself as he directed his gaze towards the orb. It glowed with an eerie light, and Bill waited eagerly for the light to morph into a pattern, which would then morph into an image.

It didn’t.

In a frustrated huff, Cipher pushed away from the thing. His brow was creased with discontent. “Ugh, I need a goddamn drink,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his temple.

So, that was where Bill Cipher decided to go. He searched in his mind’s eye for the furthest interdimensional bar (so there was a lesser chance of one of his henchmaniacs finding him). Once he found one that looked promising, he snapped his fingers and blinked out of existence.

The bar was less crowded than Bill had hoped it would be. Oh, well. He could still have a good time—or, at least, a drink, which was what he came for in the first place.

He floated over to the bar and took a seat on one of the stools. He rested his cane against the leg of the seat and leaned on the counter. “You got any martinis?”

The barkeep turned, and it raised one of its seven brows in confusion. “Martinis? You mean like, from Dimension 46’\? Geez, this is the second time tonight a drink from that dimension was requested. Are they really _that_ good?”

Bill shrugged. “It’s all hard liquor, buddy. Same poison.”

“Suit yourself. Got one martini on the rocks for ya.”

Once the drink was slid over the counter to him, it was then that the dream demon realized that there probably _was_ a reason he had ordered a drink from that particular dimension.

_I’d love to join you, Bill. You inspire me more than anyone else has._

Bill visibly shuddered and took a long gulp of his drink. He should have ordered some stronger stuff.

“Hey, barkeep!” The demon was shouting across the bar in order to get the creature’s attention but he didn’t care. “Ya got any vodka?”

Two eyebrows raised this time, but the vodka was passed along. Bill kept drinking, and kept hearing the voice, and kept ordering stronger and stronger drinks, until he was absolutely positive he had _two_ eyes instead of one. After all, what _else_ would be the source of his double vision?

“Mind if I join you?”

That was funny—the guy that walked up to him looked almost like Stanford! But Stanford had been torturing him all night. Why not cave, and let the six-fingered freak have some fun? After all, with the amount Bill drank, it wasn’t like he was going to remember it!

He let out a laugh—louder, more crass, more _insane_ than usual. “Ah ha ha… Sure thing, pal! Grab a seat—make yourself comfortable! You want a drink? Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

Stanford chuckled, which caused a strange feeling to surge in the demon. He instinctively found himself clutching onto the edge of the counter to keep his balance.

“I’ve had enough to drink, thank you.” The man’s gaze travelled over to the array of empty cans and cups and glasses on the counter. “But you look like you’re having a good time.”

“Ha ha! I’m having a BETTER time now that you’re here!” The words had slipped out before Bill had a chance to think, but he didn’t think anything of it. It was the truth, after all.

It sounded like Stanford was laughing, but Bill couldn’t be too sure; the sound came out odd and distorted. “Well, I’m glad I was able to brighten your day a little.”

“Oh,” Bill slurred, “you’ve brightened more than just that…”

The triangular monster made an attempt to lean forward, to grab Ford’s arm, but the man pulled back at the last second. Bill fell forward, but caught the edge of the counter just in time. His form began to filter red: anger born of embarrassment and shame. The colour took a while to filter through the triangle, and it seemed indecisive, questioning whether it was really worth it to be upset in the first place. When Bill’s form had reached something of a red-orange, the colour melted back to its original golden hue.

Bill had looked back at Stanford, and the guy was smiling. _Why_ he was smiling, the demon couldn’t tell, but Bill was set to enjoy it, anyways. He hadn’t seen Ford properly smile since the day he found out Bill’s true plans. No matter how many times Bill looked back through his crystal orb into the dimensional peepholes, Stanford was miserable every time. And normally, Bill would have been laughing at the researcher’s ill fate, but somehow, it was different this time around.

The dream demon had stared wide-eyed at Ford for a while before thinking to speak. And, when he did, his tone was angered but slurred so much that it was near impossible to take him seriously.

“Now, listen here, wise guy…”

“ _Ah_ -bup-bup!” Stanford held up one of his six fingers as a motion to interrupt the dream demon, and his brow was quirked in confident amusement. “You didn’t ask my permission first!”

“Your _what?”_

“My permission. It’s respectful to ask for consent, you know.”

Bill’s eye narrowed. “Buddy, you’re… you’re not making sense here.”

“Well, you were about to reach out and touch me, weren’t you?” Ford motioned to the space between the two, where Bill had previously fallen forward. “You didn’t even ask if I _wanted_ to be touched.” A low chuckle came from the man, and in a tone so quiet Bill almost couldn’t make it out: “of course _you’d_ have trouble understanding the simple concept of _permission.”_

This angered Bill. Red slowly started to trickle into his form again. “Alright, listen here! I—I—I didn’t even wanna touch you in the first place!”

“ _Didn’t_ you?”

“Well… I… of _course_ I didn’t! What did I just say?”

“Why did you want to do that?”

“What?”

“I said, why did you want to touch my arm, Bill?”

“I… because I…”

But Bill couldn’t answer that question, for he himself didn’t fully know. The funny feeling inside him had grown and grown until it felt as if it had encapsulated his entire being.

So, instead of answering the question, he stared intently at Ford. His gaze shifted to above the man’s head, to his hair, and rested there. Stanford remained silent, patiently waiting to see what Bill would do next.

And, this time, when the demon started reaching his hand out towards Ford, the man didn’t move away. The hand, tiny and thin, gently rested in Stanford’s hair. Almost instantly, Bill’s pupil dilated and his lid grew heavy.

“So, you like my hair, don’t you?”

_Of course I’ll join you, Bill._

The demon giggled, the sound soft and slurred. “Yeah… you know, it’s… it’s _really_ soft. And you’re pretty smart for a dumb human.”

“Why, thank you.” Ford looked suspicious, but Bill was too inebriated to fully react to this. “I, uh, do my best.”

_With the two of us working together, we’ll be unstoppable._

Bill’s eye contact towards Stanford was unmoving. While it was more than a little unsettling, everything about the demon’s body language radiated calm, comfort, _trust_.

And that was what gave Ford a brilliant idea.

The man leaned in closer, which caused Bill’s facial plane to light up in excitement. The closer Ford was, after all, the more of his hair Bill would get to feel. And, _boy_ , was that hair soft.

“You know, Bill,” the man said, “I’m so glad I ran into you here.”

Bill was too caught up in the heavenly texture of Ford’s hair to initially notice, but once he realized exactly what the man had said, his hands froze in place. He turned to face Ford, eye wide with interest.

“Yeah?”

“It was entirely a coincidence that the two of us happened to meet here, in this bar.”

 _That’s hilarious, buddy,_ Bill wanted to retort. _You’re just a figment of my imagination._

Bill knew it, and Bill knew that Ford knew that Bill knew, but the thought of admitting to himself that all of this wasn’t real was nearly too much for the dream demon to bear. So, he didn’t. He instead elected to have a little more fun with this, to keep his direct attention focused on the one human he couldn’t seem to forget about:

“Fordsy…”

The word came out in a sigh that Bill didn’t even think was possible for him to emit. He didn’t care about that for the time being, however. Not when Ford’s hair was so soft. Not when he was saying such interesting things.

And then Fordsy’s facial plane began to shift, began to form an expression so familiar, yet so confusing at the same time. This was the same indecipherable expression he had carried three years ago, back when they were still friends. Bill seemed to find more joy in this expression now than he used to, even if he still wasn’t sure what it meant.

The feeling that now seemed to encapsulate his being surged even stronger, and Bill found himself leaning forward, eye shining with enamourment. Stanford took advantage of this opportunity and moved back, a smile playing on his face.

When he next spoke, the man’s voice was soft, as if he were telling Bill top-secret information, but at the same time carried an element of casual camaraderie. “You know, Bill, I feel like the bartender has been giving me funny looks all night.”

Bill immediately grew defensive, his gaze snapping over to the creature behind the counter. He hadn’t noticed any funny looks from the creature, but if it was bothering Ford, then that was going to be a big problem. He would have to keep an eye on that bartender...

Ford’s eyes didn’t leave Bill. “What do you say we move over to a booth? It’ll give us a little bit of privacy.”

The idea of privacy had never usually been a priority for the demon, but suddenly, the idea of being alone with nobody else but Ford excited him. “Sure thing!” He tried to hide his excitement but the emotion ended up spilling out in excess.

In response, the man let out a somewhat sheepish chuckle. “Well, uh—alright, then.”

Stanford got up first, pushing away from the counter and moving over to a more quiet part of the room. He slid into a booth, away from prying eyes, and Bill followed him like an eager puppy. The demon hovered over the man for a moment, and after a bit of decisive hesitation, floated into the air and gently settled into Stanford’s lap. His form was glowing a bright, vibrant yellow.

At first, Ford looked startled by Bill’s presence: he laughed somewhat sheepishly and his gaze flickered nervously to the edge of the table. But then, Ford’s facial plane shifted once more, back to the same confusing expression that stirred strange feelings in the demon.

What was it about that expression that captivated Bill so? Stanford’s eyelids were half-closed and relaxed, and the smile on his face was just like any other smile, save for the fact that it felt warm and inviting. The dream demon couldn’t place what made that particular set of changes in the guy’s expression so interesting, and it infuriated him.

Subconsciously, he found himself reaching for Ford’s hair once more. Though the man’s brow was creased with nervousness, his smile only grew wider, eyes twinkling under the dim light of the bar. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except for a soft, nervous breath.

“I—I, um… I’ve missed you.”

Bill’s form surged with happiness. He pressed his body against the man’s chest, giggling like a lunatic. In response, he felt a soft, gentle hand stroking his side— _Stanford’s_ hand.

“You’re…” the demon begun, his words becoming slightly less slurred than before. “You’re—y-you’re really… something else, Fordsy.”

Stanford chuckled, the sound soft and hollow. He averted his gaze once more, brow creasing with anxiety. An eager desire stirred in the demon, one that needed Ford to stop looking so damn upset all the time. Bill leaned in closer, trying to get Ford to look up, and to his surprise, the guy followed.

The expression on Stanford’s face was filled to the brim with vulnerability in its rawest form. The man looked confused, upset, hopeful, nervous, and a few more emotions Bill couldn’t recognize.

“I… I wish things could—could go back to the way they were.”

Bill’s gaze on Stanford was unblinking, unwavering. His eye was wide, but his voice was soft. “Me too.”

And then, he was leaning into Stanford, closer and closer, so close that their facial planes were nearly touching…

For a moment, a different expression briefly flickered onto Ford’s face. His brow creased, his eye contact diverted. This expression Bill knew: Stanford was nervous. But what did he have to be nervous about?

The dream demon didn’t have much time to think on it, however, because Ford was _also_ leaning in closer. His lips were getting awfully close to Bill’s eye, and so Bill closed it in response. He believed he had an idea of what was happening, but he was still curious as to where this was going.

And then, Bill felt the contact of Ford’s lips on his eyelid. The lips were slightly dry and cracked, and they smelled faintly of beer. Curiously, something about this contact seemed extremely alluring. It sent the feeling inside the demon skyrocketing, and before he knew what he was doing, he had puckered his eyelids so that they met Ford’s lips, as well.

The contact was immediately broken. Bill caught Stanford moving back slightly, his eyes opening and growing wide. Ford was sputtering, watching in confusion as Bill’s lids had somehow turned into lips.

Bill, however, was mildly irritated. Whatever had happened there was extremely interesting, and he was determined to have it continue.

“Hey, buddy,” he said. “What’s your deal? Why’d you stop?”

A soft breath of a chuckle came out of Ford’s mouth: a mix of incredulity, sheepishness, and amusement. The guy’s face began to turn a pinkish hue—Bill wasn’t even going to try to guess what _that_ meant.

“I didn’t know your eye could do that.” Though he still sounded incredibly nervous, there was a hint of excitement and curiosity to Stanford’s tone. It was the same tone of voice he used whenever he discovered a new anomalous creature in the forest. It was the drive to understand, to study—and that didn’t surprise Bill. After all, Stanford _was_ a scientist, and it was pleasing to rediscover something about the man that the dream demon would had otherwise forgotten.

Bill took this as an opportunity to show off. “You bet it can, pal! And it can do more than just that! How do you think I drank all of that alcohol?”

“Fascinating…” Stanford spoke in nothing more than a hushed whisper, eyes gleaming with excitement. This was short-lived, however, for the scientist soon realized the situation he was in and shrunk back.

Bill noticed this. “What’s the matter, Sixer?”

“I—well, we…” Stanford paused. “You—you don’t know what we just did, do you?”

“No.”

“We—well, we… um, never mind.”

“Wait— _hey!”_ Bill reached over and grabbed Ford’s nose in an attempt to get him to keep his eyes on the demon. “That doesn’t mean I wanted it to stop! Yeesh, and here I thought you were a _smart_ guy!”

Another strange expression crossed Ford’s face: an odd mixture of confusion and hope. “You mean,” he said, his voice soft, “you—you want me to—”

In response to this, Bill merely leaned forward and met his “lips” to Ford’s own without hesitation. There was initial shock from the other party, causing Ford to freeze up, but he soon relaxed, sending a soft sigh through Bill’s mouth.

Bill had never quite been sure of what he was feeling leading up to this moment, but whatever it was became amplified, and the demon felt better than he had felt in what seemed like an eternity. He didn’t remember grabbing onto Stanford’s shirt, but he suddenly became aware of the fabric in his hands. He was also aware of the soft, intoxicating breaths coming from Ford; the subtle desperation that seemed to underline his actions. Ford was moving his lips against Bill’s own, and it was weird—but Bill had never strayed away from weird.

Eventually, Ford moved back again and broke contact. Slowly, Bill opened his eye and found the guy smiling. It was so warm and inviting that the demon felt the world spinning around him. (Then again, that could have just been the alcohol.)

The demon languidly reached an arm out and lay a tiny finger on Ford’s nose. “Y’know, Fordsy, you’re… you’re… you’re pretty great.”

Ford’s voice was soft and gentle, but there was a hint of desperation humming behind his words. “I… _Bill,_ I… please don’t go.”

To his surprise, Cipher found his voice matching Ford’s own in softness. “And why would I ever do that?”

Almost as if karma were reacting to this particular turn of events, Bill’s bowtie began to vibrate, letting out a loud, piercing ring. It took the demon a while to figure out where the sound was coming from, and he floated out of Ford’s lap and glanced around the bar in annoyance before realizing it was coming from his own form. He placed a soft finger on the bowtie, and it expanded into a rectangle contained within Bill’s form.

“ _Yello?_ ”

A little turquoise creature popped into the receiver’s field of vision. “Boss!” it screeched, causing Bill’s brow to furrow in annoyance. Ugh, not _this_ guy.

“Yeah, yeah—what is it, Keyhole? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

There was a pause on the other end. “Boss, where are you? That doesn’t look like the Nightmare Realm! Is it a bar? Have you been drink—”

“That’s none of your business!”

Keyhole screeched once more in response. “O-O—Of course, sir! I—I just wanted to tell you that we’ve spotted Stanford Pines in Dimension 90~N)!”

 _Dimension 90~N)_... That was quite a distance away from the dimension Bill was currently in, but having a form of pure energy and indescribable power meant transportation was going to be easy. It was time to stop messing around with the Ford from his imagination and work towards capturing the real deal.

“Keep an eye on him,” the demon instructed. “I’ll be there in a second.”

Bill held up his hand, about to snap his fingers and teleport into the other dimension, when he hesitated. A cautious eye travelled over to the booth he was just sitting at.

Stanford Pines was nowhere in sight.

His resolve now strengthened, Bill snapped his fingers and disappeared from the bar.

“Bill! _Bill!”_ Keyhole was the first to race up to Bill, and the demon regarded his henchmaniac with pointed disinterest.

“Well? Where is he? Did ya find him?”

“He’s right over there!”

Cackling like a maniac, Bill zoomed up to the human Keyhole was pointing at. The guy’s back was turned, he was about the same height, was wearing what looked like a tan jacket…

Bill grabbed onto the man’s shoulder and spun him around to face his wide, gleeful eye. But that excited look soon melted into disappointment.

It wasn’t Stanford.

The dream demon flew into a rage, tossing the impostor at least fifty feet away. “Where is he?!” he screamed, not caring anymore that his words were slurring, that his form was turning red. “WHERE IS HE?!”

 

As Bill sat alone in the Nightmare Realm later, nursing the dull ache behind his eye, he thought again of the Stanford that had paid a visit to him in the bar. What if Bill was mistaken? What if _that_ Stanford was the real one all along?

 _He would have been hiding from you,_ he told himself. _He’s a smart guy. He knows you’re looking for him._

But, no matter how hard he tried to repress them, the memories from the night at the bar haunted his mind. It had all felt so wonderful, so _real_ , so beyond anything he could have ever imagined. The light in Stanford’s eyes, the softness of his touch, the gentleness of his expression… those were things the dream demon would have _ached_ to experience again.

Bill could have ran into Ford that night at the bar—he could have captured the guy once and for all—but he could never be too sure if it was all just a figment of his imagination.

Ford’s smiling face entered his mind and the unknown feeling flooded him like a wave.

_You’ll never have to be lonely again._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading—I had a lot of fun writing this! I'd like to also give a special thanks to my extremely insightful and intelligent beta, octavia_romanus, for helping me work out some inconsistencies in characterization and plot; and to my friend, daisywrites, for being such a huge inspiration and source of encouragement! You two are the best!


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